


Call Me Senpai

by abrandnewheart



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs, Locker Room, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Time Skip, They suck each other off before they ever even kiss yes you read that right, maybe a little plot if you squint, senpai kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:07:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26378530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrandnewheart/pseuds/abrandnewheart
Summary: "Say it again," Atsumu orders, voice more sure than it had sounded all day before now."Atsumu-senpai.""Again.""Atsumu-senpai."
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 15
Kudos: 234





	Call Me Senpai

"I mean, I've been here a while. So I guess you can call me senpai."

It's a joke, isn’t it? 

Kiyoomi examines Atsumu's expression. Perhaps it isn’t a joke. Perhaps he’s serious. 

Kiyoomi can’t quite decide what’s worse. Atsumu's tone was light, almost jovial, but Kiyoomi has known him long enough—albeit not on an overly-familiar basis—by now to think that the smile betrays his sincerity. 

"I won't," Kiyoomi answers, grateful for the mask covering his face to hide his small, tight smile. "But nice try." 

It’s months later when Hinata joins, and he indulges Atsumu in the nickname once, a couple of weeks after he joins; it puts a smile on Atsumu's face that doesn’t leave for the whole day. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t want to admit how frustrating it is. 

He’s gotten used to being the person who makes Atsumu smile the most. Sure, Atsumu smiles a lot anyway—it’s hard not to, when their team is so rambunctious and have an energy that even Kiyoomi finds infectious—but Kiyoomi thinks he’s the best at it. So seeing someone else come in, make one comment and get Atsumu grinning like a Cheshire Cat for the rest of the day… it’s frustrating, and Kiyoomi gives himself the task of making Atsumu smile for longer than an afternoon.

Would giving in and calling him senpai get Atsumu to smile again? 

What if he didn't smile quite as big as the one he'd given Hinata? 

That wasn’t an outcome that warranted thinking about, lest he put himself off of the idea. And not knowing would be better than knowing for sure—Kiyoomi is perfectly qualified at making Atsumu smile. He is perfectly able to deliver witty one-liners and comments that might make other people shrivel up and die, but which Atsumu just thinks are funny. He’s good at this! And in return, Atsumu seems to try his best to get Kiyoomi to smile, too, going so far as to intentionally clown himself on the regular. Kiyoomi knows it’s intentional, because every time Atsumu does something stupid, his eyes seek out Kiyoomi’s. It’s stupid. It’s endearing. It almost makes Kiyoomi want to call him the s-word as a reward. 

And the longer it goes on, the harder it is to resist. But Kiyoomi keeps the word tucked in his back pocket. It’s the ace up his sleeve. He’ll wait until the proper time. Maybe at one of their team dinners, when he can get Atsumu to make a fool of himself, to smile like an idiot, in front of the team _and_ management all at once. 

He doesn’t have to wait that long before the proper time reveals itself. 

The game is a washout. Nobody is on form; Kiyoomi can admit he’s sore and tired and hasn’t been playing well. Bokuto is having a rough day and falling back into old bad habits. And then there’s Atsumu.

Kiyoomi can only watch helplessly as Atsumu fumbles, and then try his best to account for the bad sets. Kiyoomi can only watch helplessly as Atsumu gets swapped out so the second string setter can get some experience in a real game. Kiyoomi can only watch helplessly as Atsumu sits with his head in his hands on the bench. 

Atsumu doesn’t smile at all, and Kiyoomi realises belatedly he hasn’t smiled since before breakfast. Atsumu doesn’t even so much as acknowledge the way Kiyoomi breaks his own usual boundaries to set a hand on his shoulder in quiet understanding as they leave the gym.

Even the next day, at practice, Atsumu is still not himself. 

It isn’t quite as bad as Kiyoomi predicted it might be. Atsumu isn’t in good form, but the more Kiyoomi is able to turn mediocre sets into reasonable spikes, the more Atsumu's mood improves.

Perhaps the others wouldn't notice, but it’s in the furrow of Atsumu's eyebrows. It’s the way he goes from pretend eye-contact where he looks through his spiker instead of at them, to looking directly into Kiyoomi's soul again. Atsumu's better mood is in the lilt of his voice every time he calls, "Omi-kun!"

A better mood, but not a good mood. 

Kiyoomi thinks that perhaps today is the day.

It isn’t like Kiyoomi to stick around once he's done a rudimentary rinse to get the grime off of his skin. No no, instead he usually heads home to scrub himself clean in privacy.

But not today. Today, Kiyoomi watches the others file out before him. Kiyoomi finds himself sitting restless in the locker room waiting for Atsumu. Atsumu’s things are still there. His jacket. His bag. His phone. Kiyoomi is certain he hasn’t missed Atsumu leaving. 

"What're ya still here for?" The voice makes him jump, and Kiyoomi opens his eyes to find Atsumu standing before him, still looking kind of miserable. "If yer gonna be shitty about the tosses, fuck off. I already know."

"Miya, I-" 

"Don't wanna hear it, Omi."

Kiyoomi considers Atsumu's slumped shoulders as he paces across the locker room. He considers the way Atsumu’s hands are shoved deep into his sweatpant pockets. He considers the way his head hangs like it is heavy. 

He considers whether today really is the day.

But as he watches Atsumu pack his things, he cannot help but feel like he has an obligation to try and make Atsumu feel better.

No. Not an obligation. 

A want.

The thought hits Kiyoomi—like a volleyball to the face, maybe. Not that that had ever happened to him. 

When had he gone from wanting to banter with Atsumu as a teammate to genuinely caring about his mental state? How had he not noticed the change? 

So he tries again. "Miya, I-"

"What?" Atsumu looks up from staring at the floor, bag slung over his shoulder. "Can't you just leave it?"

But Kiyoomi is not deterred. 

"Miya-s—" He pauses, frowning, and corrects himself, because a far better idea has come into his head. 

_"Atsumu-senpai."_

He’s almost breathless as he says it, the weight of saying Atsumu’s given name in conjunction with the honorific out loud for the first time heavy on his tongue. 

Atsumu doesn't say anything for an awkwardly long time. Kiyoomi holds his gaze. Atsumu opens his mouth to speak, but returns to the frown right after. 

"Atsumu-senpai," Kiyoomi tries again. He wonders if Atsumu thinks he’s trying to tease, or make him feel worse. Kiyoomi struggles to come up with any other words to follow what he’s just said though, and instead just heaves out a shaky little sigh. 

"Say it again," Atsumu orders, voice more sure than it had sounded all day before now. 

"Atsumu-senpai."

"Again."

_"Atsumu-senpai."_

Atsumu takes two steps towards where Kiyoomi perched on the bench, and Kiyoomi finds it in him to sit up straighter. Another two steps and Kiyoomi is vaguely concerned that Atsumu might want to hit him. 

How badly has he misjudged the situation, and how quickly can he fix it? 

Atsumu's expression is unreadable, something dark swirling in his eyes that Kiyoomi hasn’t ever seen.

"Atsumu-s-" 

"Shhh," Atsumu hushes him, pressing a finger to Kiyoomi's lips. It rests there for several seconds, and Kiyoomi is quiet. Like he’s been told to. 

He can be good sometimes. 

Atsumu's hand shifts, and he's still got that look in his eyes. Like he's hungry for something. Like he's sad. Like Kiyoomi can give him something to make him feel better. 

His fingers cup Kiyoomi's cheek. Atsumu's thumb rests on the corner of Kiyoomi’s lips.

Kiyoomi doesn’t know what comes over him, but he does not think twice about sucking the thumb into his mouth.

Kiyoomi can feel Atsumu's eyes on him. Watching. Looking. _Seeing._ Kiyoomi looks at up where Atsumu stands above him, and he doesn't let the thumb drop from his mouth. Instead, he swirls his tongue around it, sucking gently on the tip. 

Atsumu considers him, a judgemental eyebrow cocked upwards. 

"Is this what you want?" Atsumu asks, and Kiyoomi makes the mistake of trying to talk around Atsumu's thumb. 

What he wants to say is, "Yes, Atsumu-senpai."

What comes out are slurred, almost sloppy noises because he doesn’t actually want to bite Atsumu's thumb.

"Hm," Atsumu reaches with his free hand to Kiyoomi's chin, tilting back, back, back, til Kiyoomi is looking up high. 

Their eyes lock, and Atsumu issues a challenge. 

"Why dontcha put that mouth to work, then?"

Kiyoomi’s hands move faster than ever before. The thumb drops from his mouth, and he dives forward, tugging Atsumu's sweatpants and briefs down around his ankles. 

He's left facing something far bigger than he expected, thick and hard and threatening to leak all over the floor if he doesn't correct it quickly. 

He wants this. If he’s honest, he’s wanted it for a while. Maybe he hasn’t done this before, but he knows he wants to now. 

He surges up and wraps his lips around the tip. Just the tip. For now. There’s a salty tang from the precome that’s now dribbling over his tongue instead of the floor. It’s not unpleasant. A musty smell lies low, and somewhere in the back of his mind he’s pleased that he’s gotten Atsumu like this right after a shower instead of right after practice. 

He sucks. Atsumu tangles his hand in Kiyoomi's hair, heaving out what Kiyoomi thinks is a very satisfied sigh. 

"Yeah,” Atsumu breathes. “Just like that."

Kiyoomi is pleased, and makes the mistake of trying to smile around a mouthful of cock. It's difficult. He probably looks stupid. 

His face flushes red but he does not back down.

Still, Kiyoomi is tentative in his further movements. He knows he's supposed to be able to take more than just the tip. He knows he's supposed to be careful about his teeth. He knows he's supposed to do something with his hands. 

But he also knows he's hard and aching inside his clothes, and that’s easier to deal with than trying to figure out what to do when this is his first time. 

So he focuses on that first, scrambling to pull his own clothes down, just enough for his cock to spring free. 

"Don't touch yourself." Atsumu's voice is firm, again. Kiyoomi looks up as best he can, and whines a noise of complaint around his cock. He’s hard. He’s leaking. He’s going to get precome all over his sweatpants. 

"Be quiet. You come when I say you can. Now be good for me and get on with it, would you?"

Maybe if he’s fast, he’ll get to come quickly, too. So Kiyoomi doesn’t argue. Instead, he’s cautious as he inches his way down Atsumu's cock. 

He'd read somewhere once that clenching a hand lessened a person's gag reflex. So that's what he does, clenching one hand into a fist and letting it rest on his thigh. 

He doesn't know if it’s working. It still feels weird, having a cock in his mouth, feels weird that it’s Atsumu's, but—he doesn't mind that part, either. It feels _right_ that it’s Atsumu’s. He can’t imagine doing this with anyone else. 

Was that what their banter had been this whole time? Leading up to this? Leading up to something which just seems to make sense? 

A hazy memory of someone saying something about sexual tension surfaces. He thinks it makes sense. 

He almost wants to smile at the thought, but he can't. Not when he has half of Atsumu’s cock between his lips. 

Instead, he noses his way deeper, and Atsumu tugs on his hair. "Are you new to this? Get on with it, Omi."

Kiyoomi looks up. He tries to tell Atsumu with his eyes that yes, actually, he's new to it, but he gets nowhere and so he nods, instead, letting Atsumu's cock pop out of his mouth as he does. It doesn’t go far, not when Atsumu has him by the hair, holding him in place. 

Theres a string of saliva connecting his lips to Atsumu's cock. It's filthy. Kiyoomi makes no move to break it. 

Atsumu stares down at him, incredulous. "You've never done this before."

Kiyoomi shakes his head, and opens his mouth to talk. He’s quiet, careful as he considers what to say. 

"No, Atsumu-senpai." A pause. "Teach me?"

He can see the way Atsumu’s cock twitches. He feels the way his own matches the movement. He is in fact leaking all over his sweatpants, but he can worry about that later, and _besides—_ Atsumu had said no touching. So he won't. 

"Fuck," Atsumu breathes, loosening his hold on Kiyoomi's hair to stroke more gently instead. "Okay. Try again. Take your time. Mind your teeth."

Kiyoomi does try again. 

"That's it," Atsumu guides his head. He’s a good guide, urging Kiyoomi forward, urging him to take more when he thinks Kiyoomi can handle it and easing off when Kiyoomi seems like he's struggling. 

It takes some effort, but Kiyoomi reaches a point where he's comfortable with the majority, but not all of Atsumu's length. He bobs his head experimentally. He swirls his tongue. He suckles at the tip and swallows down everything he is given as a reward. Still salty, but he’s starting to not dislike the taste quite so much. It’s hard to dislike anything when it’s accompanied by soft grunts. 

"Hand," Atsumu says, and Kiyoomi looks up through his eyelashes, but he offers up one of his hands all the same. 

Atsumu squeezes his fingers. Kiyoomi could pretend it was tender. 

Atsumu guides Kiyoomi’s hand to his cock, shows him how to wrap long, slender fingers around his length. He says, "harder," and then, "ah—ease off," when Kiyoomi gets it wrong. 

Kiyoomi is grateful to be allowed to even try and get it right.

He used to wonder what it might be like to suck someone off. He thought it might taste bad, that the texture would feel weird, that it would all be too much.

He was worried he'd get it wrong. 

He's sure he _is_ getting it wrong, but Atsumu is patient. He's so patient, he’s being so patient and he's letting Kiyoomi get warmed up and used to things and—

Before Kiyoomi knows it, he's got Atsumu’s entire cock in his mouth, and he's starting to get buried in wispy curls of dark hair. 

It should be gross. But it isn't. He huffs a breath through his nose as best he can and struggles to suppress his gag reflex through sheer willpower alone. His eyes are hot with the effort, stinging, wet, and everything is blurry as he tries to look up at Atsumu’s face.

"Yer so good Omi. Yer—” Atsumu huffs a breath, almost like a gasp for air. “—a quick learner." 

Atsumu is happy with him. Maybe Kiyoomi will get to touch himself soon. 

He thinks Atsumu might be getting close. His hips are stuttering, rocking ever so slightly, pulling his cock out and shoving it back in just as quickly, even as Kiyoomi bobs his head. 

He tries really, really hard not to gag, squeezing his fist at his side. He wants to be good. He _so_ wants to be good. 

He sucks down harder, in the hope that it'll speed things along, but Atsumu jerks his hips back, pulling his cock out of Kiyoomi’s mouth and cursing, "Fucking ow. Teeth!"

Kiyoomi’s face flushes red, and he goes to sit back, to slump back against the wall behind him and hide for a while. 

But Atsumu doesn’t let him. Atsumu shifts back into the original position, smearing his cock and Kiyoomi’s own spit along his cheek before lining back up with his lips. 

He shouldn't find it hot to be covered in spit and pre-come. But he does. 

He settles for suckling on the head again. That, he can do, and it doesn't make him feel like he can’t breathe. He wraps a fist around the rest of Atsumu's length and gets back to work.

He lets his own hips thrust into thin air, seeking a release that may not even come. But that's okay. This is about Atsumu. He’s going to make Atsumu come. He’s going to make Atsumu forget all about his bad day. He’s going to be _good_ for Atsumu. 

He gets very little warning that Atsumu is about to come. There is just an, "Omi, I—" and an erratic cant of his hips, and then, Atsumu is coming. 

Kiyoomi recoils, just a little. A little, but it's enough that Atsumu's cock falls from his mouth and paints his cheek white with a spurt of come. 

Atsumu leans, or maybe falls, forward, one arm outstretched in front of him to rest against the wall behind Kiyoomi. He's panting hard and heavy. 

"Sorry," Atsumu mumbles, reaching down to swipe the come from Kiyoomi's cheek with his thumb. He offers it to Kiyoomi's mouth, and Kiyoomi sucks it in, cleaning him off and swallowing it down with the threads of pearly white that made it into his mouth on a first attempt. 

"Ya really are a good boy, huh?"

Kiyoomi is quiet, but there’s a soft little smile on his face as he looks up at Atsumu. 

Before Kiyoomi can make his brain come up with a coherent response or realise what's happening though, Atsumu drops to his knees and swallows Kiyoomi's aching cock in one fell swoop. 

Kiyoomi can't help the way his hips stutter. He's been leaking and painfully hard for so long that he doesn't think he'll be able to last long at all.

"A-Atsumu-senpai," He chokes it out, and can’t help the way the honorific falls from his mouth along with the name. He knows he’s going red in the face again, and he throws a hand up to cover his mouth from embarrassment. 

But Atsumu sees it, even from where he kneels on the floor. And Atsumu reaches up, never missing a beat as he continues to suck on Kiyoomi's cock like he’s hungry and has been waiting for this for a long time. 

He takes both of Kiyoomi's hands in his own. He laces their fingers together, squeezes lightly, and Kiyoomi simply can't take it anymore. 

"Atsu—" Kiyoomi gasps, and he comes, right down Atsumu's ready throat. 

Atsumu only sits back on his heels once he’s sure Kiyoomi is quite finished. He licks his lips and he wipes his face with the back of his hand. 

Kiyoomi watches with his heart in his throat. 

This was so not what he'd had in mind. This was not what he’d intended on happening at all. This was so, so far away from the plan—had there really been a plan—that he didn’t know what to think any more. 

He takes a shaky breath to try and even out his breathing and he watches. He waits for Atsumu to give him some kind of sign. Some kind of signal. Anything. 

Atsumu pulls his clothes back up around his hips and smoothes out the creases in his shirt. He leans back forward. He tucks Kiyoomi’s softening cock back inside his sweatpants. 

Kiyoomi goes to speak, but Atsumu surges up and plants a kiss square on his mouth before he can. Just a short one. But it’s sweet. (Not literally).

"You were so good," Atsumu murmurs, still in so close and his lips brush Kiyoomi's as they talk. 

"I—” 

"Shh," Atsumu murmurs, preasing a finger back to Kiyoomi's mouth. "Its okay. You don't have to say anything." 

Kiyoomi nods. He’s grateful, in a way, for not needing to try and string a sentence together. He settles on just looking at Atsumu once again. He can't read Atsumu's expression. 

"Let's get dinner tomorrow, Omi-Omi, yeah?"

Kiyoomi nods.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey you’re my teammate  
> And this is crazy  
> But I’m months older  
> So call me senpai


End file.
